Still Standing
by AgentSJSands
Summary: Sands Angst. It could be the beginning of a story or it could just be one explanation of what makes Sands who he is and why he seemed to understand El. Because you're already dead...
1. Chapter 1

Still Standing

Disclaimer: I don't own Sands.

Sands hardly ever looked at the photo anymore. The edges were brown and tattered and curled from the time that had gone by since it was taken. But sometimes, like tonight, when he had drunk a sufficient amount of tequila and it had numbed him just enough, he could pull that photo out again and look at it and enjoy the memory without the stabbing pain that it brought to his heart. He didn't want to forget, but he didn't want to remember either.

As he ran his thumb over the picture he smiled to himself bitterly as the grief washed over him. She was smiling, her blond hair glistening in the sunlight, like it always did, as she lifted one hand to wave, while her other hand held another smaller hand. She waved too, her tiny hand outstretched toward him, forever captured in the photo.

He had taken the picture on the day that he left for the Farm, for training. If he had known how much this job would have taken from him, would he have gone that day? Probably not, but now the job was all he had left. And he had buried it all away. He had buried it so deep that no amount of psych evaluations or counseling sessions could ever draw it back out. But sometimes, like tonight, he just had to see her again. He had to remember the love he once had for her before it was taken away from him in one murderous night. He swore he would never love like that again. He would never feel that kind of pain again.

And now all he had left was hate and sometimes he felt nothing at all. Sometimes he didn't think he could ever feel anything again. The company had tried to bring him back from that dark place, but they failed. There was no coming back to the happy life he once had. There would never be happiness for him again. He had buried that with his wife and daughter that day. He existed. He continued. He went on and he did a fine job for the agency that stole his soul away from him and took his life.

So, they sent him far away. After what had happened to his family they couldn't just fire him even though they had serious reservations about his mental health. So, they put him someplace safe, where he could work and where his way of doing things wouldn't stand out from the rest of that corrupt country that they call Mexico.

He sighed and put the picture back in its place next to his heart before the pain could overwhelm him, before he remembered how it all had ended that day when his enemies had caught up with him. A simple mistake had cost him everything that he held dear and now, he was no more. He waited for the end, for someone to put an end to him so he could be with them again, but the end never came. He was always too smart or too fast. There was always something, every time, that kept him alive, and so he kept on going and he kept on daring the world to put him out of his misery. But he remained, bitter and angry and unfortunately, still standing.


	2. Chapter 2

El pulled a crumpled piece of paper from Sands bloody pocket. He had found the severely injured CIA agent lying in the street and brought him to a safe place to heal. He looked at the picture in astonishment.

"So there is more to this American than meets the eye," he chuckled to himself and slipped the picture into the pocket of the fresh pajamas that the woman he had hired to help him had put on Sands weak body.

The picture haunted him for several days as the agent recovered slowly from his wounds. Who was the woman? Who was the child? What did they have to do with this callous seemingly uncaring and reckless agent. The picture made no sense to him. Not on this man, it didn't.

Ten days later Sands was able to sit up and eat. His nurse was bringing him some soup and El followed her into his room, and sat on the edge of Sands bed studying the agent without saying a word.

At first, Sands ignored the intrusion, but El's questioning stare made him frown right back at the Mexican.

"What do you want El?"

"I don't want nothing. I have never wanted nothing. I finished my assignment. I saw you needed help. I helped."

A moment of silence passed as the men frowned at one another.

"You saw the picture didn't you?" Sands asked accusingly.

"The picture?" El asked non-chalantly.

"Yes, the picture Fuckmook," Sands spat, emphasing the last word.

El sighed.

"Yes, I saw the picture."

"Well, forget you saw the picture, savvy?"

El nodded and stood up from the bed and walked out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

A couple of weeks later, Sands was well enough to take out on the town. El took him to a local restaurant. It wasn't a long distance away but he thought the agent needed to feel like he could do this on his own so he gave him minimal help along the way. Only when he stumbled did he help him. They sat and ate and the agent seemed happy to be out of bed and out doing something. They were enjoying some drinks and relaxing when Sands became somber.

"Why are you still here?" The agent asked pointedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, El, you could have left me in the streets to die. Why didn't you? And why are you still here?"

"That is not my nature to leave someone to die," El replied incredulously.

"Well, it's mine," Sands smirked

"That is not entirely true and I know it."

"Oh, you know it, do you? You would be wrong, mi amigo, very, very wrong, to believe that."

"You are NOT who you claim to be."

"Well perhaps you haven't met the many people I have killed in cold blood. No, El, I do not care about anyone."

"But you did...once."

If Sands had eyes he would have stared holes right through the presumptuous Mexican. The only sign of anger the agent showed was a slow clenching of his jaw until his lips formed a tight line. The thought occurred to him to kill the Mexican right here and now, but he didn't, at least, not yet. Right now he was useful to the agent and he needed him as much as he hated to admit it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why did you treat the chicle boy the way you did?" El inquired as Sands sat smoking a cigarette on the porch of the house they now shared together while Sands recovered. The question hung in the air for longer than it should have.

"Why does it matter?" Sands eventually shrugged off the question.

"Because I know you aren't the man you claim to be. There is more to you than the 'shoot the cook' murderer you wanted me to believe."

Sands chuckled. "No, El, there really isn't."

"And why do you lie about it?"

"Why do you keep asking?" Sands was getting irritated now. "Why can't you just leave it alone? Who am I to you anyway? Because you aren't anything to me but a pawn, and if you think I am going to tell you anything you are sadly mistaken."

Sands shoved his chair back with his boot causing it to squeak as he got up and left El alone on the porch.

But El wasn't in the mood for the agent's elusiveness this time. He wanted answers and he followed him into the house. Sands paused.

"Why are you following me?"

"If you are going to live in my house you are not going to pretend."

Sands chuckled, his back still to the mariachi.

"El, you really need to stop being so..."

All the wind was knocked out of him when his body slammed into the wall. He definitely didn't see THAT coming. He gasped for air as the mariachi pressed him firmly into the wall.

"Who is the girl!" he demanded. "I am tired of your games. If this woman and child are someone you plan to kill, I..."

He stopped as Sands burst into laughter.

"Sorry, mi amigo, they are already dead."

"You bastard!"

He shoved Sands even harder into the wall so he could barely speak, but he whispered,

"I thought you didn't think I was a cold blooded murderer."

A suppressed laugh was in his voice that El clearly heard.

"I don't know what to think!"

"Well good then, my plan is working."

The calmness in the agent's voice made El realize he was actually enjoying this rough treatment.

"You are sick!" El yelled throwing him into the wall once again in disgust, then walking away.

"Well, some people might agree with you there, but it hardly matters does it? I do what I need to do and I am good at it."

"You WERE good at it," El couldn't resist the barb. He was annoyed beyond belief with Sands.

He looked over at the agent who was facing his direction. He looked very pale, he suddenly realized. In a split second he watched the agent topple to the ground.

"Oh, hell!" El expressed as he rushed over to the fallen agent.

I was too rough with him, he scolded himself. He is still recovering. He helped Sands to his feet. Sands grinned at him.

"Don't start going soft on me," he admonished El.

"Do you ever shut up?"

He helped the agent to the couch and sat him down.

"No, El, because you are far too easy to fuck with and it's entertaining me."

El just stared at him in disbelief.


End file.
